


Arms of Sleep

by RowboatCop



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: 2x07, Coulson being really really tired after 2x07, F/M, First Kiss, Fluff, Missing Scene, Skye patching up Coulson, Skye's insecurities about her origins, Sleepy Cuddles, The Writing on the Wall
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-17
Updated: 2014-11-17
Packaged: 2018-02-25 17:06:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2629577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RowboatCop/pseuds/RowboatCop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Missing scene from 2x07 where Skye patches up Coulson and they have a nap. And a cuddle. I have a lot of feels left over after 2x07 basically.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Arms of Sleep

“Do you want me to get Simmons?”

“No, she should stay with Mr. Van Holt.”

“You didn't really hurt him,” Skye reassures him, but Coulson just shrugs.

“I hurt him enough. And these aren't that serious.”

He looks down at his arms, at the two long cuts, and then at the thin line of blood matting his t shirt to his chest. The cut had gone through so much scar tissue, though, that there's not that much in the way of blood.

Skye nods and collects bandages and antibiotic cream, and sets to work on each of his arms. She's diligent and careful, touching him only as much as is necessary, and he finds himself disappointed by that. He wants her to touch him more.

“I need you to take your shirt off,” she tells him, her voice shaking slightly as she steps back, and Coulson becomes aware that the careful, diligent professionalism has all been an act.

Skye, he knows, has had a rough day and most of it is his fault.

“It's okay,” he reassures her. “It's not even bleeding that much.”

“Take off your shirt,” she tells him again, and the vulnerability he had seen for a moment is gone.

Coulson just nods and fingers the bottom of his shirt, hesitating for too long before he tugs it up. Skye has never seen his scar before, and there's something about it that frightens him. Not that Skye would judge him for it or find it too much to handle.

“Sir,” she sighs impatiently, and he nods as he tugs his shirt up and off in one clean motion. He keeps his eyes down as he sets the shirt next to him, careful not to look into her face as she sees him for the first time. (And he thinks of it that way, as though Skye is seeing _him_ for the first time, and not just this one mangled part of him.)

It makes him freeze, tense and uncomfortable, as if he's waiting for some kind of verdict. Waiting to see if Skye can, what, accept him? (As though Skye would ever do anything to make him feel not accepted.)

Her hands land on his chest softly, on either side of the scar, and he watches her belly as she takes several long, deep breaths with her hands planted there. She strokes her hands across his chest, gentle and comforting, and Coulson lets out a deep, tension-releasing breath.

Her professionalism is definitely gone, replaced with this caring comfort that is all Skye. Her hands on him feel too good, her quiet acceptance of him feels too good, and he has to stop himself from leaning harder into her touch.

Skye leaves her left hand resting on his chest as she reaches for the antibiotic-covered swab with her right, and carefully sweeps it down the length of the scar. When she pulls away the swab, it's clean – no blood.

She follows the antibiotic with liquid stitches, another thin line across the damaged part of him, and Coulson shivers — partly at the chill in the air, but also at the gentle way Skye touches him and her fingers on his chest. His shirt is destined for the garbage bin, something they both know, and he sees Skye frown at the thought that he’s cold.

“Let me get you a blanket,” she offers. Her hand slides off of his chest slowly, as though it's not easy to move it, and she crosses behind him. He's aware of her return when her hand lands on his back, on the matching scar there.

“I never thought of this before,” she whispers, her voice so close to his ear, “that it went all the way through.” She tosses the blanket over his shoulders as she steps back around him. Her fingers stroke his chest again, soft and careful and sweet.

Coulson swallows and nods, looking up into her eyes.

“You okay, sir?”

He nods again, a little afraid that if he tries to speak he might cry.

“Let's get you to bed,” she offers, and he nods gratefully, allowing her to help him off the table and towards his bedroom. “Thompson will be available for a debrief later today, and Van Holt can be transferred to police custody without you,” she adds, but he hasn't even given them thought. Now that everything has fallen into place, now that his brain feels like _his own_ again, all he can think is that he is tired.

He is so, _so_ tired.

Together, they walk towards his room, Skye's arm linked through his.

“Do you want me to get your pajamas?” Skye asks the question gently as they reach his room, and Coulson shakes his head. He's too exhausted, too entirely ready to drop, to bother with changing clothes. He’ll be lucky to get so far as taking off his pants, at this point.

“Coulson,” she whispers his name as she guides him to the side of his bed. He turns to her and is surprised to feel her arms around him, strong and solid and warm. It takes him a moment to make his exhausted body respond, but he wraps his arms around her in return, pulling her warmth up against him. Coulson breathes deeply against the side of her head, enjoying the feel of her with him.

“I'm sorry,” he whispers. “I'm so sorry, Skye.”

“For what?” She asks as though she really doesn't know, and it brings him up short.

“Everything,” he finally answers, and Skye sighs gently into his bare shoulder.

When they pull apart, Skye guides his head down and kisses him softly on the forehead

“If you don't need anything else, I'll —”

“Stay?” He asks the question rather pathetically, but he's been to the worst places in his own mind today and her voice was the only thing that grounded him. He’s too aware that the things he saw today are going to revisit him in his sleep, and he selfishly wants her near him when that happens.

Skye stares at him, seemingly bewildered with the request for a moment, before she nods slowly.

“Okay.”

She astounds him on a daily basis – that's the thing about being around Skye, is that every day there's something that reminds him how special she is and how lucky he is to have her in his life – but her easy acceptance of his request still brings him up short.

She pushes him down on the side of the bed and circles around so she can climb into the other side, as though it's no big deal. Together, they lie down, slide under the covers, and he watches as Skye wiggles out of her jeans under the privacy of the blanket before reaching behind her back and maneuvering in her shirt for a moment until she tugs her bra up and off.

It’s not an erotic sight at all — if anything it’s silly — but Skye removing her underwear in his bed will never be anything but sexy to him.

“Take off your pants, Coulson,” Skye tells him as she tosses the items onto the floor. “You’ll sleep better.”

He does as she suggests, trying to squelch any feelings of arousal. Luckily, the tiredness takes care of that for him.

When she rolls towards him, pressing her body up against his comfortingly, he can feel her bare legs against his and it's possibly the most welcome sensation he's ever known. As much as it relaxes him to have her near, it makes him strangely more alert, as though he can't bear to fall asleep and miss out on her presence like this.

“What do you need?”

“Talk to me,” he answers.

“About what?”

“Anything.”

“I was so scared today that you were going to get yourself killed,” she sighs against his shoulder, and it’s the first point at which it occurs to him that Skye might need this closeness as much as he does.

Coulson rolls onto his side, facing her, and wraps his arms around her.

“I'm scared of that city,” she continues. “I'm glad that whatever's been happening to you is over, but whatever is in that city...”

“It might be where you're from.”

“I'm not sure I want to know where I'm from,” she tells him, and Coulson tightens his arms around her.

“It will be okay,” he murmurs against the side of her head.

“You don't know that.”

“I _do_ ,” he counters. “I won't let anything bad happen to you.”

“Even if you have to lock me up to do it?”

Coulson sighs into the top of her head and kisses her hair several times, slow and soft and gentle.

“I'm sorry.”

“I know,” she sighs.

“You're afraid of what you'll find out about yourself, aren't you?”

“My father is a monster,” she replies.

“And you're not.”

“Yeah, but —”

“Skye,” he whispers into her hair. “You're _good_ , okay? You're so good.”

“Well of course _you_ think that,” she replies.

“Why of course me?”

“Because you're...” She doesn't finish, and he can't tell if it's because she doesn't know what to say or because she's embarrassed to say it.

“What am I?”

He’s afraid for one stupid moment that she’ll answer, ‘You’re basically my dad,’ so it’s a relief when she instead presses her lips to his.

Coulson groans against her mouth, pleased and a little desperate, and Skye smiles into the kiss as he responds. Her lips are soft against his, and it feels amazingly good.

Skye pulls away too soon, though.

“You need to sleep,” she informs him. “Kissing can happen later.”

“Promise?”

“Yeah,” she answers, her whole demeanor vaguely amused. Or maybe pleased.

He falls asleep easily as Skye settles against him, holding him as much as he holds her.


End file.
